


Dreams of Music

by VTsuion



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, POV John Watson, Sherlock Holmes falls asleep at a concert, Short & Sweet, violin concert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 03:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14559426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VTsuion/pseuds/VTsuion
Summary: Perhaps the only time Sherlock Holmes fell asleep at one of his beloved violin concerts.





	Dreams of Music

I am embarrassed to say that it is not unheard of for me to doze off in the middle a concert, lulled to sleep by a particularly peaceful movement until a fortissimo passage or Holmes's sharp elbow jars me back into awareness. It is uncommon, however, for our places to be reversed. In fact, to my recollection, I have only once seen Holmes’s chin fall against his chest and heard him snore faintly under the melodious airs of a violin.

I did not have the heart to wake him. We were in the midst of a particularly taxing case. It was mere conjecture on my part, but I suspected that Holmes had gone at least two nights without sleep, if not three. When we left the flat for the concert hall, he had started walking off in the entirely wrong direction and it was only then that I convinced him we would do better to take a cab.

We talked little after that, but I kept an eye on him. I saw him begin to fade several times over the course of the short ride, only to be jolted awake by a bump in the road or a sharp turn. It was after one such instance, after he seemed to have reoriented himself, but before he could get comfortable once more, that I asked, “Holmes, are you sure you’re up for an evening about town? You look as though you may be better served by a full night’s repose.”

He waved off my concern, of course. “As tired as you know I am, I doubt I will be able to rest until the case is complete. No, tonight music will offer me the reinvigoration I need.”

It seemed he had told the truth, though perhaps not in the way he had intended. He slept through nearly the entire concert. Even when the violinist dove into a frenzy of notes that seemed to shake me from my eardrums and may have even caused the walls to tremble, he remained unmoved. Only when the concert had ended and everyone around us was standing and donning their coats to return to the chilly autumn day, did I prod him awake as gently as I could.

Finally, his eyes peeked open and he greeted me with half a smile. “I suppose you were right after all. It is a shame too, to have missed such a highly anticipated concert. You will have to recount it in full, unless you also succumbed to sleep.”

I shook my head.

“Oh well,” he said, hoisting himself to his feet, “At least it was not entirely a waste. You will have to describe every note to me on our ride back, and then I will heed your wisdom and sleep before I return to work.”

I smiled, perhaps a little smug with my small victory. “If you wish to know every note, I suggest you just play the pieces yourself, but I will do it what justice I can if you promise you will rest.”

A deal was made, and we returned out into the blustery evening, and back to the warmth of Baker street.


End file.
